


Goodbye My Coney Island Baby,

by hpotps



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Arthurian legend - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Use of Arthurian Legend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpotps/pseuds/hpotps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, he couldn’t tell you particularly when it happened, but he could damn near guarantee that it had. Well, it had to have, at least by this point… right? Oh, to hell with it all, he felt right in his skin, he responded without hesitation whenever they used his name, hell, they even let him back in the field! This realization wasn’t exactly an overnight sensation, except… It almost was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coney Island Dating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SansPellegrino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansPellegrino/gifts).



> The title is based off the barber shop quartet song: Coney Island Baby!! I sang it at my school in Men's Choir so tbh it's the best stevebucky song???? Look it up and imagine the Commandos serenading steve and bucky ok please just do this.

Now, he couldn’t tell you particularly _when_ it happened, but he could damn near guarantee that it had. Well, it had to have, at least by this point… right? Oh, to hell with it all, he felt right in his skin, he responded without hesitation whenever they used his name, hell, they even let him back in the field! This realisation wasn’t exactly an overnight sensation, except… It almost was. It took months of “prep work” all to lead to a horrible nightmare, which led to him crossing the hall, and crawling into the bed there. His leg tangled in the sheets, and the large, white comforter draped over most his body, it wasn’t the midsummer heat that woke him up, but the abrupt, strong presence of an arm draped over his once sleeping figure. His eyes shot open, but by the time he registered what he was seeing, the arm had pulled him in and there was a very warm, very solid, very naked chest pressed against his, also very naked, back. Every muscle in his body screamed, _‘too close! get space!’_ but then there was a puff, warm air caressing the back of his neck. And then a sigh, a simple word passing their lips so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it, but he did. And he never believed in a word so well as this.

 

_“Bucky.”_

 

~

 

“Your mission is a Hydra base, it’s located on the Champ de Mars in Paris-” Fury began, Natasha effectively cutting him off.

 

“Champ de Mars, that’s where the-” Natasha began.

 

“Eiffel Tower is, yes. More specifically, it’s where the Hydra base is- or, it’s on top of it, at least.” Fury finished, gesturing at the picture of the eiffel tower, it flew to a sky view and quickly scanned the building, showing where the entrance is, and how expansive the unit beneath it was. “There is a west, and an east end. We are searching for _Le Mort d’Arthur.”_

 

“The Death of Arthur,” Natasha translated, nearly under her breath, but Steve heard her nonetheless.

 

“So, what, is this a weapon? What makes it so special?” Steve asked.

 

“That’s just it, we don’t know if it’s a weapon or not.” Fury said, openly, which felt quite unnatural to him.

 

“How does that-?” Steve was abruptly cut off by Fury talking over him.

 

“It might be the tomb of King Arthur. As in Arthurian Legend, which is where this kid,”

 

“I know the story of King Arthur, thanks.” Steve said pointedly.

 

“Well, the tomb has been hidden for god knows how long, but after a recent disturbance in Glastonbury, England, where a massive crater was dug, not hurting anyone. Save for a few cows. We have reason to believe that whatever was in that crater was important to Hydra, because it was 16 short hours before the base we are currently targeting was reactivated.” Fury explained.

 

“Now, how can we be sure that this hole and the base are related? How do we know that what they were digging for was even found?” Steve questioned, Natasha grunting affirmatively beside him.

 

“Because, at the bottom of that hole was a lid.” The screen zoomed in on a tunnel the size of a manhole. “And behind that lid was not a network of sewers, but a very long tunnel. At the end of which was a hill. Inside this brick dome, fresh grass was alive, and on top of that hill was a willow tree, under which was a platform. Now, whatever was on that platform is now gone. And, before you ask Mr. Rogers, we have good reason to believe it was King Arthur’s tomb, due to the fact that by the time we got there, grass was already dying. Leading us to believe-”

 

“That whatever was on that platform was keeping a tangible life source up and running inside that dome.” Natasha finished.

 

“Which means, we can’t take that chance.” Fury finished.

 

“Alright, but why do you want it?” Steve asked, sceptical.

 

“Because, if whatever was in that casket kept a mound of grass, and a tree alive for hundreds of years, then there is a possibility that it might be capable of bringing something shortly dead back to life, or making what is alive live longer than is meant to, and I don’t want to find out what that something is.” Fury explained, holding the soldier’s stare evenly. Their arrangement to openness had led to more than a few moments of discomfort and distrust on his end. But he wanted Hydra crushed, done away with, and he needed Steve’s help if he was going to do it. So, after Steve had accomplished his first project, Fury reached out to him and assembled a five man team to handle this global threat while Tony, Banner, and Clint handled Hydra in their own team. Steve’s only condition was complete levelness on their war front. So, as long as Fury told them everything he knew, Steve would offer his services.

 

“So we should just destroy it.” Steve said, blunt as ever.

 

“Not so fast, soldier, we might not be able to destroy it. And even if we did, that doesn’t mean that we should. I mean, that casket kept that place alive for centuries, destroying it can only be a bad thing, especially in our experience.” Hill cut in from the other side of the room, finally sitting up. Steve arched his brow at her.

 

“Well, she’s not wrong.” Natasha said.

 

“Fine.” Steve consented, grudgingly.

 

“Good,” Fury said, “Now, your way in is through the south west most corner of the tower, on the interior side, there’s a fingerprint pad, and these should come in handy.” He gestured to Hill, who opened a case with a finger inside. “This, belonged to Alexander Pierce, it should get you in. And when you are, that’s where the trouble is.”

 

“What’s in the two rooms?” Natasha asked, directing attention to the two rooms that were flashing red on the screen.

 

“In one of those rooms, is the casket, but it’s impossible to know which, due to the fact that we can’t scan it. Not thermally, three dimensionally, the most we know about those two rooms is that they’re there, and they’re protected.” Hill piped up. “Now, when you’re inside, you’ll have a grand total of eleven minutes to get it and get out. The whole unit is wired with explosives, and unless someone resets the timer, then kaboom. You’re going to be split into two teams. Bucky, you’re going to go to the west end, Cap and Nat? You two are going to the east end.”

 

“He’s not going in by himself!” Steve said immediately. The slightly peeved off side of him growing in intensity when Hill just looked at Fury who rolled his eyes.

 

“Look, we don’t have time to argue about this, Agent Barnes has been to the facility before, you two have not. Capable as I find Mrs. Romanoff to be, I cannot leave either of you to go alone. There are five of us against this whole damn world of Hydra, and I will not lose a team member. If we had more time than eleven minutes, I wouldn’t let anyone go on their own, but as it stands this is our best option.” Fury stated, looking over to the man in question.

 

Bucky looked away from Steve and to Fury, “Most of my memories are triggered by location, and more often than not, my body operates on muscle memory when we’re at Hydra bases.” He looked back to Steve, “So, I’ve got the best chance of going it alone and surviving.”

 

“But-”

 

“No buts, Stevie, we’ve got our orders.” Bucky cut in, not unkindly.

 

“Thank you, Agent.” Fury said, “Flight’s out in thirty.”

 

“You heard the man,” Natasha added, placing her hand on Steve’s back. “Come on.”

 

~

 

There was a soft few taps at the door as Bucky pulled the flame retardant material on, slipping it over his arms easily, mumbling a, “Come in,” as he reached behind himself to zip up the sleeveless tee.

 

“Mind if I?” Steve said, closing the door and crossing the room in full tactical gear to stand behind Bucky.

 

“Sure.” He said, dropping his arms.

 

Steve reached for the zipper and pulled it up, looking up and meeting Bucky’s gaze in the mirror. He sighed and grabbed each shoulder, “I don’t like this.”

 

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, no shit you don’t. But it’s what’s done.”

 

“Just because it’s what’s done doesn’t mean it’s what should be done.” Steve said, tightening his grip, the cool metal under one hand, and warm flesh under the other.

 

“Look, how about you give me a reason to come out alive?” Bucky asked, turning in Steve’s grasp so that their chests were almost touching. A flash of yellow light, a leather coat, and a sick taste of regret came upon him, but it was gone so fast he almost didn’t register that it was there, filing it away as remnants of a memory long forgotten.

 

“What?” Steve asked, perplexedly.

 

“Most of the fights we got in, we only made it out because we had something waiting for us back home.” Bucky explained, “Give me that something.”

 

“Coney Island.” Steve blurted out, before he could stop himself, really.

 

“Huh?” Bucky asked.

 

“After this mission, let’s take a week off, just the two of us, and go to Coney Island. I’ll buy you a funnel cake and everything.” Steve said, smiling, cheeks tinted red.

 

“I…” Bucky said, smooth words failing him for the first time in a long time, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

“Wheel’s up, boys!” Natasha called into the room.

 

“Got it!” Bucky and Steve called at the same time, back at her. She just smiled and rolled her eyes, exiting the room.

 

“Coney Island, tomorrow night, say eight?” Steve asked, grabbing his shield from where he apparently dropped it by the bed.

 

“It’s a date.” Bucky began, grabbing his tactical vest, pulling it on. He’d only made one outfit adjustment, aside from the bun he pulled with his hair, and that was to cut off the sleeves on his gear. It helped with mobility and it let his metal arm show, something he was finally getting to accept. Nodding at himself, he crossed the room and slapped Steve’s ass in casual passing, “Punk.” He finished.

 

“Jerk,” He heard called behind him as a second pair of boots followed him out of the room.

 

“Stark says you’re not do for recal. for another month at the earliest, so we can rest easy about that, he says all your joint weapons should still work, and wishes you luck. And by you, he means your arm, and by your arm, he really means himself, as it’s his tech.” Natasha said, calling back to the boys entering through the cargo hold.

 

“Got it.” Bucky called, relaxing ever so slightly.

  
“Good, let’s go!” And with that, the plane was taking off, mission bound, destination: La Tour Eiffel.


	2. Farewell My One True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Goodbye my Coney Island Baby,  
> Farewell my one true love, true love,  
> I'm gonna go away and leave you,  
> Never to see you any more."

The plane, cloaked, touched down underneath a rather beautiful tree in a rather remote park, blocked off by park officials. “You should be safe here, ma’am.” The man spoke, his French accent making it nearly impossible to understand him, so Natasha opted for the easy route: “Merci,” She began, flawless French rolling off her tongue, “Combien de temps avant nous attendons à le site?” _tr: How long before we reach the site?_

 

“Pas de plus temps, quinze minutes.” He said. “Always a pleasure to catch an agent in my native tongue, especially when she’s one so beautiful.” He poke, returning to English, reaching up to cup Natasha’s cheek. _tr: Not long, fifteen minutes._

 

“Don’t,” She said, calmly, “ever,” She pushed his hand down, slowly, gently, “touch me.” She smiled brightly, “Okay?” She walked past him, hair swaying back and forth with every clack of her heel on the cobblestone pavement that led right up to the Tower.

 

Steve stepped forward, patting the man’s shoulder, wincing at the secondhand terror. Trotting, he caught up with Natasha, Bucky, who simply glared at the pseudo-ambassador, was right on his tail. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been scared of you since the last time I was scared of you, Nat.” Bucky said, breaking his dark and brooding visage, laughing brightly.

 

“So, five minutes before the plane touched down and you made one too many jokes about me riding the ‘cockpit’?” Natasha said, sardonic humour falling from her lips like toxic gas. Even Steve had the decency to shudder, he honestly was afraid for Bucky’s life. Oh, but when she started _counting?_ Steve actually unfastened his belt and got ready to jump, _catch you on the flip side, Buck._

 

“Yeah, basically,” Bucky responded, and if he looked a bit paler, no one said anything. Nat’s smile said it all.

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Steve deflected, “Wearing our full tactical gear when we’re _walking_ to a mission site?” He asked, “Isn’t that a bit, conspicuous?”

 

“That’s the point. It’s about time people got to see that someone is fighting the big bad monsters of Hydra, and what better face than Captain America?” She explained, simply.

 

“Won’t this ruin our chances of me playing lost puppy?” Bucky countered. “It’s one thing for the world to see you, but for the world to see _me,_ for _Hydra_ to see me, my cover will be blown.”

 

“Also the point, you’re never going back there.” Natasha said, and something in her facade came almost close to sweet, if Bucky felt rather daring. “Steve made a very good point on how much it affects your recovery, and while you’re light years from where you were,” She turned to face him, taking a deep breath, “You’re never going back there, not without us.” She said, making direct eye contact, and part of Bucky just melted away with the relief.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Pleasure,” she said, cool exterior back in place, “Oh, look,” She said, staring past Bucky’s shoulder, “We’ve got a hit,” Steve turned slightly, catching the girl, in her teens, holding her phone up, camera at them. She put the phone down, tapping at it aggressively, Steve scoffed and turned back, walking forward. Bucky caught his step, Natasha falling in, putting her phone away as she flipped a bit of hair out of her face. The three of them were walking in stride with one another, Natasha spoke sardonically, “And it’s trending.”

 

~

 

“Is it unhealthy that I can’t find a more fitting person to open the door than Pierce himself?” Bucky said, “I mean, he worked so hard to fuck me up, now we’re gonna tear down everything he’s left behind.” He spoke, more crass than he used to be, silver tongue duller than it used to be.

 

“Watch your shotty language, Bucky.” Steve said, offhandedly.

 

“Did you just say shotty? I’m sorry,” He said, looking at Nat for confirmation, “Why did you just say shotty?”

 

“Because shitty is a bad fucking word you jackass.” Steve said, his voice cold. When Bucky laughed, genuinely, a full belly laugh, he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face.

 

“That’s the Steve I know.” Bucky said, jostling his pal lightly. It was then that the grass cracked in a perfect square and they began their descent into the base. When the pseudo-elevator touched down, a soft puff of dust rose into the air.

 

“Well, this looks habitable.” Natasha said, Bucky was the first to hear it, a slight whistling through the air, his left hand shot forward, as Steve’s shield came slicing through the air to block Natasha’s crouching figure. A four pointed arrow slowed to a halt, caught between Bucky’s second and third metal fingers. “And archaic.” She finished, after a moment.

 

“Stay alert, Hydra agents or no, we don’t need to get caught in any of those.” Steve said, looking at Bucky. He nodded affirmatively, pulling his weapon in front of him, crouching slightly, ready to move Steve maintained his shield on his left arm, Natasha standing tall, they walked forward. “Hey,” Steve said, holding his fist in the air.

 

When Bucky looked over his shoulder he relaxed, smiling brightly, switching his West German Heckler to his left hand, extending his right fist, bumping his with Steve’s slightly. “One hundred and seven.” They both said, smiling brightly at the realisation. “Looks like it’s the last run, Buck.” Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes, and repositioning his handle on the assault rifle.

 

“In your dreams, Stevie.”

 

~

 

His boots were almost entirely silent of their own accord, for once Bucky almost felt gratitude toward Stark, his field work had gotten remarkably better since geared with his tech. He readjusted his grip, breathing deeply, silently. He squinted, a shadow moved in the dim lighting. He crushed himself against the wall, squatting low.

 

“...yes, I think this will be our breakthrough in Project Arise.” One man, in a black lab coat, red Hydra symbol emblazoned on the back.

 

“My only concern is that we don’t have a successful handle on just what this thing does, it’s longevity is nearly tangible, what with the state of that room, but we can’t be certain it would be able to necessarily bring something back, maybe just sustain its already ongoing life force.” The other man, also in a black labcoat said, their voices receding as they travelled further down the hall and turning right into another room. Bucky looked behind him, down the hall, but it stretch so far it eventually turned to shadows in this dim lighting.

 

The scientists had come from a room down the hall, it was the second left to Bucky’s current position and, so far, they were the only people Bucky knew to be in this whole base, aside from Natasha and Steve. He approached and pressed the door open slowly, gun raised. When he found the room to be empty, he approached the computer screen. On it was a file: _Project Arise._

 

“Oh because _rebirth_ was over used, I’m sure.” Bucky said to himself, crossing the rifle over his back, “Alright, let’s see what this project is all about.” He mused.

 

Moving the mouse, he clicked on the file, finding it password protected, he breathed, cleared his mind, and touched his hand to the keys. He was pleased to find that he did, in fact, know the password as his fingers typed out of habit: “H-A-1-L-H-Y-D-R-A”

 

When he was finished, he thought back on that, “Really, who let Sitwell make the fucking passwords, I mean, honestly.”

 

He began searching, reading overviews, skimming files, he found one on himself. He almost clicked on it, instead, opting for the title project. He opened it, eyes running quickly over schematics, details, outlines, none of it making clear sense until he read the mission statement: “Cut off one head, why not bring that head back to life?” Panic raced through his body at the half-realisation, all the pieces to the puzzles almost fitting, the plan on the tip of his tongue; he pulled out his flash drive, quickly searching for a port, he found one and jammed the stick in. When all the files began backing up, he lifted his flesh wrist to his mouth, “Steve, Nat?” He whispered harshly, jamming the door behind him. He turned his wrist over, the stopwatch reading only seven minutes and a handful of seconds. “Steve!” He whispered, harsher, his footsteps picking up pace.

 

He passed a few more doors before he saw one spilling blue light into the hallway, ‘The scientists turned in here.’ He opened the door, one man turned around, Bucky raised his gun and shot him clear in the head. The other scientist turned around, drawing his gun much faster than should be necessary for a standard doctor. He pulled the trigger, Bucky dodging narrowly, throwing his knife, watching as it sunk deep into their chest, the picture of shock still etched into both scientists facial features. When he was sure that both men were down, he looked around the room, seeing two large computer screen, divided into segments, multiple feeds running through them, _‘Surveillance.’_ his mind supplied. It only took him a second to locate Steve and Natasha’s figures as they both flew back and forth across the screen, taking on a couple Hydra agents, that were apparently enough to keep them occupied.

 

He refocused on the mission at hand for a handful more seconds as he turned around and saw it, a tank, full of liquid, and what was inside was something Bucky had spent more time than he cared to admit praying that he would never, _ever_ see again.

 

He spoke into his comms again, “We need to retreat, let the place blow, Hydra plans on reviving Red Skull. I repeat, Hydra plans on reviving Red-” He was cut off by his own shout as a bullet sang through his shoulder, turning quickly he raised his side arm in his metal fist, firing as he watched several Hydra agents pile into the room through the thin door way. He counted seven in all, crouching and jumping left he narrowly evaded a shower of sparks as a round of bullets shot the camera screens out.

 

Bucky went for his grenade when a bolt of white-hot pain shot through the entire left side of his body, his metal arm spasming as electricity shorted out his entire arm, he was familiar with this sensation, Natasha had used a similar device on him at the Bridge. He went to swing his arm, trying to recalibrate what of it he could in the field when he felt the pull, a massive force slamming him into the ground, he pushed up with his flesh arm groaning in pain at the pressure on his wounded arm, the whole bleeding profusely. He scrambled to get his feet under him when another disk landed on his right leg, pain coursing through his body in the wake of the electric shocks. He had just enough time to turn his head over his shoulder to see the butt of a rifle gunned at his face, effectively striking him unconscious.

 

~

 

“So…” Natasha said, intent laced in her tone. “What’s the whole fist bump number thing about?”

 

“Oh, that” Steve responded, grinning, “When we were in the Howling Commandos, we started every mission with a fist bump, and we counted how many we did so we’d know how many times we’d gone into battle and come out alive. It made the more daunting Hydra missions not so daunting in comparison.” He said, casually, checking his watch for the time, seven minutes and some seconds.

 

“And the whole ‘last ride, die hard, bromance’ thing?” Natasha said, rolling her head up to the left to meet his eyes.

 

“Yeah, we uh, kinda made a little pact, when we’d run one hundred and seven missions together, we’d retire. Kinda symbolic of the whole 107th platoon thing?” Steve said, seriously until Natasha’s face made him realise just how lame that sounded. He blushed slightly, “Oh come on,”

 

“I didn’t say anything!” She responded, mock raising her hands in surrender, the custom grip, semi-automatic SIGPro didn’t make her case any easier.

 

Steve just laughed lightly, rolling his eyes, “Whoa!” He called, pulling Natasha behind him as a man came crashing through what was supposed to be a wall. The woman’s foot landed squarely on the central star of Steve’s shield, he ran the shield forward, throwing her off him, but she flipped in mid air and sprung off the wall, dodging Natasha’s well aimed shots. Another crash behind them, and Natasha drew her second pistol, firing at what was coming through the wall before it could fire at them.

 

Two bullets left her gun at the rather large thing that skid from the rubble and began sprinting at them, the bullets phased straight through it, like it was made of gas, it raised its fist, closing in on Natasha. She rolled out of the way, watching in slight terror as it left a rather remarkable hole in the ground. It came at Natasha, she turned on her back and pistoned her legs up when the thing was in range her feet passing through it, as she raised off the ground, off-balance from not connecting with the thing.

 

“Steve!” She called, regaining her footing.

 

“I know!” He called back, firing his own pistol at the female attacking him.

 

_“Steve, Nat?”_ rang through their comms, staticky.

 

“Shit.” Steve swore, raising his shield against the woman’s fist, the vibranium ringing, quick thinking he drew and fired in one fluid motion, the bullet tearing through her flesh as she yelped.

 

_“Steve!”_ Bucky’s voice came through the comms again, more urgent this time.

 

“Nat!” Steve said, firing at the woman again, but it phased through her.

 

“Now’s really not the time for a chat Steve.” She said, kicking off the wall, wrapping her legs around the things head, pulling her knife. She grunted in frustration as it passed through the thing’s neck, wincing as it cut across the underside of her thigh as she crashed to the floor.

 

“No, I figured it out!” Steve said, “Fox and rabbit!” He called. The male figure had escaped behind them, Natasha crossing her arms to block when she saw him coming at her. The second his fist connected with her arms, the shield sang off the wall and caught the figure in the neck. The force of the shield knocked the man off kilter, successfully connecting. Natasha skidded to a halt and raised one of her firearm and fired two rounds at the figure, but it just burst into smoke.

 

Steve looked wildly around, searching for whatever that thing was, but the moment he caught sight of its female counterpart, she too burst into smoke. “Wh-what the hell was that?” Steve asked, looking around.

 

“No idea, how did you-”

 

_“We need to retreat, let the place blow, Hydra plans on reviving Red Skull. I repeat, Hydra plans on reviving Red-”_ The comm went dead, and Natasha and Steve looked at one another.

 

“We have to-” Steve began, but Natasha already knew where that sentence was going.

 

“No, we need to finish the mission, there’s no way Hydra would actually let that room blow,” Natasha said gesturing at the door just a few yards ahead. “Especially not if what Bucky said was true.”

 

“But-” Steve said, almost storming past Natasha anyway.

 

“Steve.” Natasha said, forceful. “I love the kid, but stopping this potential revival _is_ more important than him.” She finished, the weight and intent behind her words twisted something deep in Steve that he hadn’t seen in a really long time. He was almost afraid to admit what the feeling was.

 

He checked his watch, “We have just over four minutes to get this, and get Bucky. Give me your ears.”

 

Natasha handed over the set of equipment, Steve crouched low placed one end on the door, and cupped one up next to his ear, listening. He heard two voices inside.

 

“We need more time, sir.” a small, timid voice said, _‘Probably a scientist.’_ Steve thought.

 

“We dont have time!” Another voice said, stronger, much more commanding. There was some kind of burst, not an explosion, but an appearance more.

 

“Sir!” Two voices spoke simultaneously, one male, one female, _‘Those things must have teleported in there somehow.’_ Steve thought.

 

Steve pulled back, deciding not to waste anymore time, “There’s four in there, those things that attacked us, and two other men. I can handle this, you go to Bucky, I have a feeling one of these rooms diffuses the bomb, and if I’m right, which I think I am, it’s going to be the other room. THey wouldn’t have sent those things after us just to protect a fuse.”

 

“Steve, we barely handled those two _together,_ you can’t take them both on by yourself.” Natasha said, she had crouched down next to Steve, _‘Probably while I was listening.’_

 

“I was the one that figured out how to fight them, wasn’t I? Look, we don’t have the time, three and a half minutes to disable the bomb, go.”

 

“You’ll die in there.” Natasha said fiercely. Something flashed in Steve’s eyes as she said that, recognition, fear, consent, guilt, all too quickly for her to be sure.

 

“Not a chance,” he said, relaxing just enough for a smile to cast over his features, “I’ve got a hot date waiting on funnel cake from Coney Island.”

 

Natasha connected the dots and smiled almost sadly back at him, “Does _he_ know he’s supposed to be your date? Or hot, for that matter?” She said, a horrible attempt at humour.

 

Steve chuckled hollowly, he turned to look at the door, face drawn in pain, he knew what he was walking into. “How bout you fill him in on that?”

 

“Aye aye, captain.” She said, and she could feel it, that Steve was going to give it his all in that room, fear be damned, he was going to win out of sheer spite.

 

He heard her stand, and retreat down the hall, moving quickly.

 

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath, raised his shield, and opened the door.

 

~

 

Natasha glanced at her watch, and with two minutes left she made quick work of turning her run to a full-tilt sprint. She crossed the central hall, and saw the platform that took them up, _‘half way there.’_ She thought.

 

She, somehow, ran faster, vaulting past door after door, one was propped open. Skidding to a halt she kicked the door open, gun up and ready. After a brief survey, the room turn up empty, but there was a flashing green bar on the screen. She raced to the computer and looked around quickly, she found the drive that Bucky must have put into the computer. All but tearing it out of the computer, she removed the drive and stuffed it into her pocket. Without any further hesitation, she turned on her heel and ran from the room, turning left into the hallway.

 

She was met with no resistance, save those two poor Hydra souls that not only saw, but proceeded to engage with the Black Widow.

 

When she finally reached the end of the door, there was no thought or pause, she ripped open the door, lifted her guns and shot at everything that raised a gun against her. There were two men on the left, both heavily armed and wearing pretty good armour. She shot at the two of them, each falling. Turning quickly, she kicked a table, screeching across the floor it hit another Hydra agent, bending him at the waist. Natasha turned to the table, running, she vaulted onto and slid across its smooth metallic surface, her feet connecting each shoulder of the bent over agent, kicking him to the floor. She slammed her back down, the two poor agents that were approaching on either side, comically missed her and hit each other.

 

With the five agents down, she looked right and left, seeing no other men standing she catapulted to the center of the room where Bucky was strapped into a chair. Natasha ran up to him and slapped his face a few times, when he didn't immediately wake up she decided it could wait.

 

She looked around the room and found a panel, running over, she tore it open, finding a single silver panel with tubes running all around the sides, protecting the wiring. "Shit!" She swore, looking at her watch.

  
With ten seconds left, and counting, she vaulted over to a fallen Hydra agent and lifted his gun, "Please work." She said as she lifted, aimed, and fired at the panel. 


	3. I'm Goin' To Go Away And...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm goin' to go away and leave you,  
> Never to see you anymore,  
> I'm goin' to sail upon that ferry boat,  
> Never to return again"

He had to have been fighting for minutes, he'd taken out the doctor and scientist, easily. It was the shadow twins that proved significantly more difficult. His shield went flying, it bounced off the far wall rebounding into a twin before it fazed through him.

 

"Stay solid!" Steve shouted pointlessly, but he could see it, a three second interval before they could faze again. It was just proving extremely difficult to hit that three second target. He was beaten, and battered, his limbs felt heavier, but he kept fighting.

 

He threw his shield again, it fazed through the girl, he shot without hesitating, the boy had gone somewhere Steve couldn't see at the moment. The man reappeared, ducking and grabbing Steve’s arms, forcing them upward just as he had pulled the trigger. “Shit!” Steve swore tensing his stomach as the boy went for a blow to the gut. Steve turned just out of the way, pivoting on his left foot, he kicked with his right, shockingly connecting in a crushing blow to the ribs.

 

The boy grunted, stumbling out to the side a bit. Steve took the moment to fire again. It all happened so fast but for some reason it felt slow as molasses. The bullet left his gun, and pierced the boy’s chest, the girl screamed, sounding raw and terrified. It was cut off midway through, and Steve looked wildly around, trying to find where the girl had gone. When she reappeared it was behind him, there was a slight whistle, and a sharp pain. A shriek, and a shout, from two different voices. Steve was fading in and out, until someone with small hands and strong arms caught him.

 

"Steve!" Natasha breathed harshly, slapping his face, "Stay with me!" She pleaded, looking around wildly, she saw the case in the center of the room. It was beautiful.

 

The room looked completely sealed, Pyrex probably. Natasha saw a long tube to a machine and could guess it was a vacuum. She surveyed the grandiose botanical life inside the vacuum chamber. In the center, on a simple silver examination table, a red wood casket, with gleaming gold trim sat. She bolted over to the vacuum sealed chamber and tore off the tube. When it wrenched free, a strong, eye watering scent escaped, botanic life growing rapidly as the plants interacted with the oxygen. “Steve.” She breathed, running back over to him, pulling his limp form over to the entrance, “I can’t lift you buddy, you’re gonna have to help me out.” She said, tapping his face more.

 

“Natasha?” He muttered, the word almost inaudible, but it sent through her like a lightning bolt. She collapsed, holding his head in her lap, urging him on. “Yeah?” She asked, hopefully.

 

“I d-don’t-” He paused to cough up more blood, “to die.” He finished, his eyes opening blearily, a heart wrenching look of pleading on his usually Apollic features.

 

“You won’t.” She said, hoisting his body up again, trying to get him in front of the tube, it was her only option.

 

~

 

She was sprinting, running faster than she had in a long while, finally reaching the other side of the compound. “Bucky,” She breathed, slowing until she was right next to him, stopping, slapping each of his cheeks he finally stirred.

 

“-sha?” He mumbled meekly.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” She said, slipping her arm under him as he groggily came to, “It’s me.”

 

“Where?” He said, rapidly coming to.

 

“Mission, come on, we need to run,” She said, speaking evenly, “Can you hold your gun?” She asked, passing him the Heckler.

 

“Yeah,” He said, finally fully cognizant. “Let’s go.” He said, stepping out of her hold, he swung his arm around, recalibrating what he could.

 

They took off down the hall, after a few moments, Bucky saw a blue light coming through the door, “Wait.” He paused, he holstered his gun, he pulled at his middle finger, the top joint came clean off. Beneath it was revealed to be a flash drive. He stepped inside the room quickly, walking over to a computer. Bucky grabbed the mouse with his right hand, the monitor that wasn’t damaged sprung to life, and he quickly sifted through the still unlocked computer’s data. He found the file on his name, jamming his joint into the slot, the center lit up, the green hue letting Bucky know that the data was transferring. A dialog box came up just as he was about to leave, and in plain english letters the screen wrote, “Would you like to transfer all data?” Looking over his shoulder, Bucky saw Natasha who wasn’t looking at him, but instead looked disconnected. He thought, _‘Fuck it,’_ clicking the big _‘Yes.’_ Stark could use the data.

 

He turned away, exiting the room, drawing his Heckler again. They ran down the hall, when they came up to the exit he continued ahead until Natasha grabbed him. “Exit’s this way.” She said, gesturing at the lift.

 

“Steve’s this way?” Bucky said, but it came out as a question.

 

“I sent him to the quinjet while I got you, we’ve got everything, but we need to get out of here, Fury is sending in a missile.” Natasha explained, running over to the lift. Bucky followed her after a beat. As soon as they crossed into clean air, Natasha looked around. Moments later the quinjet uncloaked itself, Bucky and Nat ran over to it, quickly climbing through the cargo hold.

 

As soon as they were on the plane, Bucky looked around. He turned on his heel, asking, “Where’s Steve?” But before he got his answer, his vision blurred and the world turned sideways just as a stinging sensation registered from his neck, electricity coursing through him for only a moment after he lay unconscious on the floor.

 

~

 

“Sir,” Jarvis’ soft voice filtered through the room, Bucky jumped, coming to. “May I suggest-”

 

“Go away.” He said, voice hoarse, teeth still covered in plaque, having yet to get up and properly maintain his hygiene for what has become four days since France.

 

“Understood.” His voice filtered away, sounding just like he was leaving, Bucky felt his heart sink.

 

~

 

Bucky spat into the sink, the bags under his eyes hadn’t been this bad since he entered recovery. The minty flavour left his mouth as he rinsed water through it. He tossed his toothbrush back into the container. His legs were still sore and stiff from sitting and sleeping in the same bed without moving further than his bathroom for the past eighteen days.

 

Even Natasha had stopped bothering to knock.

 

~

 

Natasha walked up to the blue and grey door, “He’s been in there for a month, I’m not entirely sure he’s still alive.” Clint said quietly. Natasha sighed and joined him on the floor, legs sprawled in front of them, backs against the hall across the way.

 

“He’s still alive,” Natasha said.

 

“How do you know? He hasn’t opened that door, and he blocked off our camera access, honestly, he could be rotting in there and we might never know.” Clint said, horror touching his voice slightly.

 

“We have a connecting bathroom. He brushed his teeth this morning.” Natasha said.

 

“Or that.” Clint conceded. “Why won’t he come out of there, Nat?” Clint added after a moment. He knew it sounded whiny but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Bucky was his partner in crime, his prank connoisseur, the robin to his batman. Sure, he’d had his fair share of trauma, some deaths of really good people had him shutting up in a not-so-dissimilar fashion. But he was never gone this long. Eventually his fight had to go on. He thought he’d seen that in Bucky, with how hard he tried in his recovery, how good he had fought to be. Bucky was Clint's best friend. Without him... No one else understood him while also being stupid with him. Natasha just let him be stupid on his own, chuckling to herself. It wasn't the same.  

 

"Because he's an idiot that doesn't know his teammates need him!" Natasha said, raising her voice, knowing Bucky was in there listening.

 

"Don't call him that." Clint mumbled.

 

"And why not?" Natasha asked.

 

"Because he lost his best friend, he's not an idiot for grieving." Clint said, sourly accepting the truth.

 

"Well regardless of what he is or isn't, we're still using these." Natasha said, raising two rubber blue balls. Clint looked momentarily confused when Natasha tossed one of them, it hit the door, bounced off the floor and back into her hand.

 

Clint grinned broadly. He took the proffered ball from Natasha, repeating her act.

 

No one can resist being pissed off at seven am.

 

It's a damn good thing Clint's a morning person.

 

~

 

The incessant bouncing had been going on for twenty six days. Bucky actually thought he was going to go insane. Originally, he hopefully assumed they would give up after a couple of days, but now it seemed they were taking _shifts._ Hell, even _Tony_ had thrown for a while.

 

But then a soft, "Stop." came from outside, it was Natasha's voice.

 

There was some mumbling that he couldn't quite make out, but then one pair of footsteps left and one walked up to the door. "Buck." Natasha said, tapping on the door. Bucky flinched as though someone had punched him rather sharply at the use of his old nickname.

 

He was silent for a long while, which Natasha decided was permission to go on to plan B.

 

"Jarvis, I have a crowbar. I can either pry open this probably very expensive door, or you can open it for me. Tony updated your protocols last night specifically for this so don't give me the shit that you can't." Natasha spoke evenly, perhaps with a slight chill to her tone.

 

The door slid open, Bucky looked at her, momentarily startled, before an absolute tension sank into the air. He walked over to the table, placing his knife on it, he turned around and walked to the other end of the room. On a chair sat a pile of clothes, Bucky began to fold them, absently, Natasha wondered when he had time to do his laundry.

 

"You don't have to speak, granted by now I'm not entirely certain you have your voice still." Natasha said.

 

Bucky remained silent.

 

"We found the girl, her name's, Artia. She's of unknown origin, but she's been confirmed to have one genetic relative." Natasha said, debriefing the man that was refusing to look at her. "Arthur Pendragon." She stated, rather dramatically it must have been as Bucky froze for the second time that morning in what he was doing. "Someone created her, she's not human, she has an ability I can only describe as interdimensional. She's quick, strong, and killing people for attention- our attention. She wants to get revenge for her brother after St-" She'd said it in her head a million times, but the lump was so much bigger in practice than in theory. She swallowed best as she could, continuing, "I'm going after her, and I would like you to be there when I do." She finished her statement, staring Bucky down, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end from where she was boring into him.

 

"Wing's up in thirty, bring whatever you want. You might want to bring something that's going to hurt, though." Natasha's usually icy and cold demeanour dropped to an absolute zero as she very pointedly, slowly, and dangerously said, "I want her to suffer for killing my last hope for humanity."

 

The room felt colder at the statement. Quiet, stalking footsteps exited the room as Bucky approached the bed, intending to sit on the edge. Instead, in a flash of rage, he grabbed and hurtled the knife from the nightstand all in one fluid motion. The door was sliding closed and almost shut, the knife flew across the room and got stuck between the door and the door jamb. It was held perfectly, menacingly aloft, handle facing Bucky's heavily breathing figure.

 

He was angry, very angry. How could she ask him to do that? To go after this Artia? Someone related to King Arthur? And how did that happen? What exactly had Hydra managed to accomplish in the short hours they had this coffin? And what exactly was their purpose? And how did it make this girl interdimensional?

 

Bucky's mind raced back and forth with questions when he heard it. He hadn't realised it was happening, having been stuck inside his head. There was a soft whispering and clanging, Bucky looked for the source of the sound, quickly finding it. The door was opening and closing, backing up and closing again, repeating this process. It was hindered by the knife that had now fallen to the floor, the door kept trying to close around it. After four more times of watching the door stump itself into repetition, Bucky rolled his eyes, signed, and walked over to the doorway, lifting the knife and sheathing it.

 

This time the door closed successfully.

 

 


	4. Coney Island Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So goodbye,  
> Farewell..."

The quinjet hovered to the ground, cloaked. As soon as it was successfully grounded, Natasha unbuckled the belt, walking over to the hatch, lowering it, and exiting the plane. Her feet touched wet grass, looking up she saw the murky clouds were still overhead. Looking around the open field she almost believed she’d landed in the wrong place. Checking her coordinates, she saw that this was where Fury had sent her, having picked up the trace magic in the air. Strikingly enough, it acted just as Gamma radiation acted off Loki’s scepter. When she put her phone back, she saw it. This was a great clearing surrounded by trees and her eyes must have missed it the first time, but there it was. Across the field, there was a great willow tree, and even as Natasha watched, she could see it growing, a pit settled, deeply uneasy, in her stomach as she noted the rapid growth of the tree. The casket was here, and something was making it stronger.

She crossed the vast space, stepping on false grass and opening a hole two feet away. _‘This is probably where they took it’_ she thought, taking a step and jumping into the hole.

When her feet collided with soft dirt a mere moment later, she stepped back, compressing her small figure against the wall. She drew her pistol, holding it at the ready as she walked down the narrow tunnel. It turned this way and that, neatly carved, and despite being underground, there were vines and floral growth covering the walls, growing ever thicker as she followed the tunnel down. She still hadn’t seen anyone, but after long enough, she heard the sure sound of voices travel to her ears.

“... sure she is on the way?” A man’s voice spoke, weak, feeble.

“Yes, Father.” A woman’s voice this time, Artia. “I am sure she will be here.” She assured.

“What of the man? Can you assure his attendance?” The man’s voice carried a commanding tone, even in the frail state, he assumed a great deal of authority by controlling Artia so completely. _‘Who is Father?’_ Natasha thought, brain working quickly to come to the answers she would undoubtedly need.

A slight ding went off in the back of her mind, a flag of sorts, waving violently at her as Bucky’s voice had rung grainy, _“We need to retreat, let the place blow, Hydra plans on reviving Red Skull. I repeat, Hydra plans on reviving Red-”_ Natasha cut off her own reminiscence at the same time Bucky’s voice had gone away from their communications line.

Acting quickly, to the point of haste, Natasha raised her pistol and exited the hall into the small hospital-like room that could just as easily double as a botanical garden, as the floral life was greatest in here. Natasha aimed her gun at Artia.

There was a beat, Artia realising that there was another woman in the room. When she leveled her cold gaze on Natasha she simply looked back to a man so pale he appeared to be nearly translucent, and said, “She is here.”

The man turned and Natasha gasped, air tearing into her lungs, pitched and panicked as she saw the shell of Steve Rogers sitting on the bed, right where she had pictured Red Skull would be. “Steve,” She breathed after many tense moments passed. His eyes were a white punctured by a murky and muted blue, where there was supposed to be a beautiful and shining sky, there was nothing. His skin was drained of almost all color, sagging on him, making him look gaunt and decrepit. His eyes were encased in a deep purple lining on the bottom, heavy bags hanging there, the perfect accent to a horrific sight.

Steve laughed, high and cold on the bed, coughed after a few moments, and waved Artia off when she went to console him. Natasha’s eyes flicked up to her, her features hardening and raising her weapon against the woman again. Artia’s eyes flicked up to the gun and paused, “I’m not going to attack you,” She said. A blast rang out and a bullet fazed through Artia’s skull.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?” Natasha quipped, smirking at the other woman.

“Enough,” Came the voice from the bed. It’s weak sound still struck Natasha’s very center, she almost wanted to lower her weapon. “I am not your friend, Steve.” He said the name with such malice, his features contorting in disgust, “You must be Natasha Romanoff,” His voice made her want to holster the gun and walk away but also shoot him, all at the same time. “I do hope you brought your friend James with you.” The malice was there again, “He does have something to return to me.”

“What?” Natasha said, finding her voice, it came out shockingly steady. “Who are you?”

This time, the man truly did laugh, a burly sounding guffaw that seemed to be larger than the man would appear capable to produce, but nevertheless, he laughed heartily for a few short seconds before collapsing to physical ailments and coughing once more. This time, Artia did not come to his side, but did cast a worrying eye upon the man.

“My sweet girl,” He said, smiling a large smile with pearly white teeth shining, laugh lines deeply pronounced, crows feet greatly etched next to his closed eyes. “You have no idea.”

~

Bucky laid on his bed, brow furrowed, scowling at the ceiling. Who was Natasha to goad him into the field like that? Didn’t she understand that he was grieving. Bucky knew he was being almost childish at this point, but she wasn’t entirely wrong: Bucky himself wasn’t sure he had his voice anymore. It’s been far too long, he doesn’t feel at home with himself anymore. A memory of a large cover and a warm arm accosted his senses, Bucky succumbing to the absolute want for it before his mind could push it away.

He sprung up off the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor, walking over to the far wall and leaning on the glass panes. He had Jarvis tint them a while ago, not wanting to continue facing the sunlight that constantly reminded his aching heart of a kid from Brooklyn.

He placed his right forearm on the cool glass, resting his head against it, breathing in and out, watching his breath fog the glass, waiting for his racing pulse to slow to a manageable trot. It was right as he felt his heartbeat settle that it spiked again, the tint on the windows disappeared rapidly, blinding Bucky with dazzling light glinting off the distant ocean view, quickly blocked out by a rising quinjet that held a rather capable red head. As quickly as it had come into view, it had shortly gone as Bucky watched the plane cloak itself.

So, turns out Natasha actually _had_ gone off on a mission without backup.

Bucky isn’t quite sure what else he expected.

With a great moment of hesitation before it, Bucky turned and picked his pack up off the floor, crossed over to the nightstand and yanked the knife out from the hole he’d driven it into, walked over to the door, picked up his boots, and with one last look at the ocean view, sighed deeply before padding out of the room and toward his destination: Artia’s grave.

~

When Bucky had arrived, he knew that this was something knew, a base he’d never encountered. There was just something so different but toxically the same that seeped into his senses and he just _knew._ It had taken him much longer than it had Natasha to find the entrance, but as there was a great and towering willow tree, he, at least, was certain he was in the right place. Once he found the opening, he jumped down and walked down the hall. He was quick and silent. Bucky soon reached the opening of what looked like a stone and mud underground atrium with various medical supplies and botanic life growing wildly around it.

“Natasha.” He whispered, there was a screen on the other end of the room. On it, Bucky could see her cuffed to a wall, blood smattered on the floor and on her face as Artia punched her multiple times over. Bucky looked wildly around, searching for a way to get to her. He was quite certain there were no doors along his way into the room he stood in now. He soon came to the realization that the door would be concealed in here. He slowed his frantic searching and, instead, turned a cold and calculating eye on the room. Bucky's thoughts slowed to a dull white noise as he looked around. It was then that he saw it, he saw that in the constantly growing state of botanic life, there was a large rectangle, just next to the bed, that was not being overgrown. The plant life that was on the door was still and separate, unlike the rest of the room where the plants were knitting between and over and under one another. He walked over to the still life and pressed on it gingerly, the door slid easily backwards under Bucky's pressure, and with a slight hiss, the door retracted into the wall to the right hand side.

As soon as Bucky passed the line of the door, he heard the telltale hiss of it closing behind him. Thinking quickly, Bucky was reminded by the door at Stark Tower, he unsheathed and jammed his knife into the bottom crook of the doorway, pleased when it made contact and the door was successfully jammed open.

He was greeted with a surprisingly short corridor, in which, there was no plant life save for moss and, if counted, dead leaves. Upon further inspection, Bucky noted that they were very similar to the leaves growing on the ivy that he encountered in the room he had only just left behind. It took him less than a minute to walk from that doorway before another room opened before him. He was crouched in the shadows, pressing tightly to the wall. He saw Natasha chained to the wall, but Artia was not to be found. When he confirmed the coast was clear, he walked briskly into the room, holstering his gun by the small of his back for quick access. “Natasha,” he breathed, he brought his hands up and gingerly cupped her face, tilting her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. It didn’t do much for him, as one of them was nearly swollen shut, and the other was closed. He could feel her weak pulse by his palm from where it was positioned under her chin. “Shit.” He swore.

“Language!” A mirth filled woman’s voice sounded from behind him, and before Bucky could even really register what it was that he was doing, he had drawn, aimed, and fired his sidearm in all the time it took him to turn round. The bullets phased right through her and punctured into the thick mud walls behind her. “Really?” She looked at the holes in the wall behind her and back to Bucky, “One word and you’re already shooting me?” Artia asked incredulously, “Chivalry really _is_ dead.” She said.

“Yeah, can’t wait to say that about you, hun.” Bucky spat, venom poisoning every syllable that he uttered.

“I wish I could say the same of you, but you need to live.” She said, smiling softly, “For now.”

“B-” A soft whisper from behind, “-ucky-?” It finished, breathy and weak. Natasha’s head was rising slowly, until she finally came out of her groggy stupor, “Bucky!” She said, her tone significantly more alert. Bucky stood watching her, gun still pointed at Artia, he asked, “Nat, are you okay?”

“Bucky, you need to leave.” She said thickly, Bucky looked on perplexedly, “She’s gonna-” Her words were drowned out by a harsh, loud, and ugly cry. Bucky looked wildly around at Artia, saw she had a gun raised. Bucky rounded on Nat and saw the wound she’d suffered, on her thigh there was a bullet wound, profusely bleeding.

When Bucky turned back on Artia, he stalked toward her, her cool smirk pissing him off more, “What? She talks too much.”


	5. Coney Island Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's play who loved who more? Bucky, or Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO I KNOW IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME BUT I SWEAR THIS FIC IS NOT ABANDONED LIFE JUST SUCKS IM SORRY 
> 
> If you stuck around for the update my blog is cmonpadfoot so if you're super mad about the wait hmu

"What? She talks too much." She spoke nonchalantly. Bucky swung at her, his fist phasing, and saw the gun had phased from her hand at that moment too. When Artia went to swing back at Bucky, she hooked her arm out, Bucky stepped in so fast he appeared to have not moved at all.

 

In one movement, he gripped her arm with his metal one, and drove his gun into her diaphragm, no moment of hesitation preceded the four rounds that were muffled by the body the gun was jammed against. Artia wore an expression of shock for only a moment more before she looked slowly down at her bleeding stomach. She collapsed against Bucky, who, with a stony expression, sidestepped her and payed no mind to the thud her body made as it hit the floor.

 

Bucky turned on his heel and made a point of stepping on the back of Artia’s skull, crushing her face into the dirt, as he walked back over to Natasha. 

 

When Bucky got to her, her gaping expression tore a grin from him, it felt stiff and uncomfortable as Bucky had momentarily forgotten he’d spent the better part of two months with a tear splattered frown or a defeatedly neutral expression on his face. This time, when he raised his hands to her jaw, she leaned into his touch. 

 

“C’mon we gotta get you outta here.” Bucky said, he reached up and went to pull at her restraints, a faint hissing reaching his ears. Bucky hushed Natasha’s wincing, “It’s okay, I got you.” The two cuffs broke rather easily under the influence of his left arm. She fell forward, Bucky stepped under her, she winced harshly when he grabbed her thigh. As gingerly as he could he hoisted her up onto his back. When she seemed comfortable, she sighed deeply, fading in and out of consciousness. Bucky turned his head, speaking softly into her ear, “Don’t worry, Nat, we’ll get you home safe.” 

 

He made it two steps before he heard the heavy footfall of another man. He stood rooted to the spot, staring into the dark hallway from the brightly lit room. There was a soft whistling, Bucky, with a stomach wrenching hope, recognized the tune immediately. He hadn’t heard this since he’d gone dancing with Steve, barefeet, wet hair, and comforting silence as Henry James and his orchestra played softly in the background. As Bucky stood with Natasha on his back, he could almost feel the press of Steve from where he buried his face into the captain’s chest. He could just smell Steve’s shampoo, wafting from his just-finished shower. 

 

The whistling stopped. Bucky could just make out a shadowy feature standing beyond the outlet to the hall, he squinted. There was a glint and Bucky realized the man was holding his knife from where he’d jammed it in the doorway. 

 

“It’s been a long, long time.” The man said as he crossed from the darkness over to the light. The sight of him ripped a, “No.” from Bucky’s lungs, hoping against hope that this was real but knowing he didn’t want it to be, either.

 

“Steve?” 

 

The man looked up, and Bucky knew. He was too pale, the eyes were muted, the fight in Steve’s demeanor wasn’t there but was crudely replaced with a commanding air. The power wafted off the man in a rather threatening way. He clicked his tongue, “Try again,” He said simply. His voice was as hearty as Bucky imagined, but it was a bit higher, and much colder. 

 

“How?” Bucky breathed, all but entirely forgetting that Natasha was on his back still. 

 

“I’m surprised you don’t know!” The man said this as though announcing a great jest or, perhaps, a grandeur ball. “You were the one that made this possible.” The man said.

 

“Me?” Bucky said, more to himself than to the other man.

 

“Oh, yes. It was a very clever bit of magic, it’s been absolute  _ centuries  _ and I never even knew! Pleasantly dreaming as your power perforated the air around me and created life wherever I went? Though, I must say, I was mostly impressed by the botanic touch. Even you knew I was bound to come back, so you gave me something beautiful to do in the meantime. But you must have known I would not want to waste my time  _ gardening _ .” The man said all of this with an air of keen imprisonment. Bucky could slightly glean where he was going, but he could not wrap his mind around how  _ he  _ had anything to do with this. Magic? Centuries? What was this man on about, World War Two was not yet one hundred years old, and Bucky had seen the Red Skull first hand. How did this man manage to come back and possess Steve’s body?

 

“No, Hydra was always a fan of genocide.” Bucky was not entirely sure where his own sarcastic drawl had come from at that particular time, but the man found it entertaining, apparently, as he laughed loudly.

 

“Hydra?” He asked incredulously, wiping at nonexistent tears in his eyes. “I am far beyond the work of  _ them.”  _ He punctuated his sentence with a nasty look at Artia on the floor.

 

“I don’t-” But Bucky was cut off, the man now looked him square in the eye, and the murky blue of his eyes made Bucky want to shiver to his very core.

 

~

 

“My dear boy!” He said, smiling now. His eyes squinted shut, as he tilted his head, all teeth and crows feet, “I am King Arthur!”

 

“What?” Bucky breathed, the shock of it belatedly settling into his system.

 

"I'm surprised you hadn't figured out,  _ Merlin _ ." The man- Arthur said. 

 

There was six solid seconds of silence as Bucky simply looked at the man, then, without preamble, began to laugh. He tilted his head down, bouncing Natasha up and down as he laughed, the strength of it growing and consuming him. With a long sigh, he tilted his head up, and, with some shifting, wiped his eyes as he leaned and supported Natasha on his left arm. "Okay," he said, walking toward the man, intending to go around him, "Nice to know you're fucking crazy, but I've got a lovely lady to get home and to a doctor." He smiled sweetly. As he was passing Arthur, he reached his right hand up and patted the man's shoulder, momentarily surprised to find quite a bit of strength there. "But- uh, maybe you should talk to my friend Bruce, he's got this crazy thing too, I think you could- ah!" Bucky broke off in a cry at one of Arthur's hands shot up and grabbed his, crushing it in his grasp. 

 

"My dear boy," the smiling tone had become frigid and dark, "Do not ever touch me without my consent." He hadn't turned to look at Bucky or physically acknowledge him in any way beyond the crippling grip he held on the soldier's hand. He gave a tighter squeeze, and Bucky, feeling his bones slide against one another agonizingly within his skin, sank as his knees gave way to the pain. Natasha, barely lucid, slipped off the soldier’s back, she stumbled back, going for her gun. She didn’t hesitate to raise and fire, the recoil almost knocked her back, but she held her ground as the bullet soared through the air piercing the should-be-long-dead skull of the Great King of England. 

 

A breeze took the room. Bucky stumbled back, looking around wildly, cradling his undoubtedly shattered hand. He watched as a leaf broke off from one of the vines and soared to cover the wound on his head. Then another. Then another. And, before Bucky even really registered what was happening, Arthur was plastered with leaves on every available part of his body. They were all different kinds, completely obscuring him from view, before the breeze abruptly stopped.

 

In the silence of the now still air, Bucky turned over his shoulder to find Natasha looking just as lost as he did, though she had enough face to look as though she were studying the situation.

 

Then the leaves fell to the ground, and Arthur stood, weaker than ever before. Eyes sunk so low, cheekbones so protuberant that Bucky was amazed the skin hadn’t just fallen from the bone.

 

"I don't like you." The man said, cold anger undulating from the man in waves. 

 

"Feeling's mutual." Natasha said, grimacing as she shifted her weight. She needed a doctor. 

 

"Good to know." There was a flurry of leaves and vines. Bucky swung blindly trying to free his vision to no avail.

 

"Natasha!" He shouted, barely hearing himself. "Natasha!" And then he was falling. Before he could catch himself he was eating dirt. His nose broke, pouring blood onto the floor. "Tasha!" He screamed futilely. There were vines on his ankles now, dragging him. Swinging his metal arm down, he wrenched at the vines. Some gave way, but just as they tore another one sprung from the flurry of green and panic twining up and around his leg. After the fourth (or was it fifth) vine that Bucky had dislodged, the vines began to climb up his metal arm. Bucky ripped away, but was beginning to lose control of his arm. "Wha-?" He asked, before he saw it. The vines were wedging between the cracks in his arm, cracks he hadn't known were there. After mere moments he lost all motor function when a small green vine grew from inside the arm. Before Bucky could register what was happening, a purple and white flower was rapidly blooming. "Wha-?" He asked again. The flowers began to crop up all over his figure. Then he smelled it. It smelled like Steve's shampoo, like how he'd imagined his lips tasted, like waking up to a warm Sunday morning. 

 

So suddenly as death itself, Bucky's eyes drooped and fell close. 

 

~

 

_ "Stevie" Bucky whispered. "C'mon Stevie, wake up."  _

 

_ Steve groaned, flapping his hand in the air, "Bucky go away," he whined.  _

 

_ "But Steve!" Bucky dragged the syllable out, whining like the absolute child he was.  _

 

_ "Why?" Steve whined back.  _

 

_ A bunch of children, the lot of them. _

 

_ "Cause this." The smile could be heard in Bucky's voice, and sure enough, when Steve rolled over, Bucky had the world's biggest grin on his face before an immaculately wrapped red and green box was shoved rather unceremoniously into his face.  _

 

_ It was a small package, slender, not very tall, but Bucky seemed so excited about it Steve couldn't help but get excited with him.  _

 

_ "Go on," he urged, "open it!" _

 

_ The room was warm, having turned off the heater for the prior twenty four days to save enough money to keep it on all day and night at whatever temperature they so desired. Steve stretched languidly, ignoring the impatient boy sitting next to him. “I will open it myself if you don't, punk.” Steve squinted at Bucky and chuckled at his determined face.  _

 

_ “Whatever, jerk, fine.” Accepting the gift, Steve shifted so he was sitting cross-legged. The package was able to fit in his long-fingered hand, wrapped in red and white paper, a thin blue ribbon around it. “Nice ribbon,” He commented, but couldn't quite manage to keep the snort down.  _

 

_ Bucky blushed and looked away.  _

 

_ Steve pretended he didn't notice.  _

 

_ “C’mon open it,” Bucky implored, and so Steve hastened, taking the ribbon off with nimble fingers, undoing the tape and finding a simple white box. For one absurd moment, Steve thought there must be jewelry inside this box, but alas, something far greater than that laid within. When he lifted the top, his throat constricted, and tears rushed to his eyes, hot, fast, unbidden, suffocating all potential words in the process.  _

 

_ It was a small rectangular object, in the shape of an L. An inhaler.  _

 

_ “Now I won’t have to be so worried about you keeling over on me.” Bucky said, a strong confession in a weak joke.  _

 

_ “You don’t have to be worried about that, Buck, I’m not gonna be leaving you for a while.” Steve said, words thick with tears, but Bucky pretended he didn’t notice. _

 

_ “Yeah? So you’ve stopped getting into fights every twelve seconds?” Bucky teased, only half-joking. _

 

_ “No, but I’ve got something on those dicks.“ Steve said, tone almost serious. _

 

_ “Oh yeah, and what’s that?” Bucky said, curiosity piqued. _

 

_ “I don’t want to die.” _

 

~

 

“Steve,” The name came off his lips in a sigh, curling from his semi-conscious mind like smoke tangling over a bonfire. 

 

“How many times will I have to say my name before you forget that useless sack of shit that wore my body?” A man’s voice replied- Arthur. 

 

As if struck by a bolt of lightning, Bucky found himself alert; eyes wide open, he hastened into a sitting position. Turning his head side to side, he took in his surrounding, “Where-” 

 

“You, my love, have been removed from that pesky bitch.” Was all the man had to say, “She was becoming quite the nuisance.”

 

“What-”

 

“Have I done to her? You people are always the same, wanting to know if I’ve killed off someone ‘precious’ or someone ‘important’, honestly I just want to live again, not commit murder.” Bucky didn’t know how to respond to that, so he opted for silence, and instead glared at the man. “I’ve put her in a comatose state,” Bucky sucked in a breath through his teeth, “She’s necessary after all.”

  
When all that came from that was silence, Arthur sighed melodramatically. "Merlin, where did that spark go? Don't you want me to be alive again? Don't you want me to be back to the man I was? The man you fell in love with?" Each question was punctuated with a step until Arthur was leaning into the other man's space, speaking into his ear. And in the sweetest Brooklyn accent, "Bucky?"


	6. Coney Island Date Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic is quite the curious talent, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'( it's over...

He keened at the sound of his name in  _ that voice _ , choking on the lump in his throat, memories flooding him, unbidden. A skinny boy getting an inhaler for Christmas, cracking jokes even on his deathbed to smooth the crease between a soldier's brow, a man, larger than life, carrying that soldier off an enemy base. Steve, battered and bruised, holding onto his shirt, "You're my friend." 

 

"Fuck you." 

 

Arthur scoffed, "So unbecoming." He walked over to the table beside the bed, lifting the knife that had jammed the door earlier. "I'll just take this the hard way, then." With a quick slash, Arthur cut into Bucky's right arm. Bucky watched in abject horror as Arthur collected his blood into a small bowl. "The magic will be diluted of course, consent is a big plus to have when casting a spell as old as this, but I think I'll find the recovery time worth it." The man walked over to the bed and turned it over revealing a runic pattern in the shape of an archaic letter, not unsimilar to a ‘B’, in the center of a circle. Stripping off his shirt, Bucky watched as a similar runic pattern appeared tattooed on this man’s back. Arthur knelt and poured the blood into the unfamiliar design, yet the crimson flow looked as if it made perfect sense. And, perhaps, in another life, it had.

 

Before the blood had finished flowing, Arthur stepped into the runic circle, discarding the bowl to the side. As Bucky watched, blood warped its way through the design on the floor. The moment the blood had filled the pattern, it glowed a blinding white. A beat of silence and suddenly light shot up from the ground, a roaring of wind coming with it, and as Bucky watched it reminded him of Thor’s Bifrost. Bucky squinted at the onslaught of light. It looked as if it was getting brighter. Suddenly, Bucky heard it. Screaming. Violent, painful screaming.

 

“Steve!” Bucky called, thrashing against the restraints with renewed vigor. His right arm cutting into the metal clasp as he pulled harder and harder. “Steve!” He screamed. As he shouted, he felt better, as if the name was curing him of all his old haunts. So he kept calling, the screaming got louder and louder, Bucky calling out for his childhood friend all the while, tears streaming down his face. “Steve!” He hollered, his vocal chords grating against one another. His body getting weaker and weaker as he called out for him, but it felt so right. Bucky kept screaming, again and again, hoping against hope that, for once, he was doing the right thing since he came out of cryo for the last time. And just like that, it stopped. Minutes of whirling wind and blinding light erased as if it were never there at all. The ground black as if scorched, and in the center of the mess of dirt and soot, a man.

 

Bucky tugged with everything he had, something in his gut telling him that he needed to get to that man immediately. Struggling against the restraints with renewed fervor, Bucky followed his instincts, and pulled and tugged on the metal clasp. Finally, with an ear piercing scrape of metal on metal, the cuff fell away from his right arm. Heaving a deep breath, Bucky tugged at the restraint on his left arm. When that restraint fell away, Bucky fell forward into a heap. Despite his complete exhaustion, Bucky threw his arms forward and crawled. With a broken hand, cut arm, battered body, Bucky couldn’t help remembering boot camp. Slowly he moved forward.

 

“Steve.” He sighed, the man didn’t appear to even be alive. Something in Bucky told him what to do. Laying the man on the ground, Bucky touched his metal arm to the cut, collecting a bit of blood. Dazedly he dragged his fingers over the man’s left pectoral. A circle, inside it a triangle with overlapping sides. Just above it a line and two branches coming out. Bringing his hands together, Bucky knelt before the man lying on the ground. Still taking the lead of his gut, Bucky breathed deep. Behind his eyelids, Bucky saw flashes of a church, burning lungs as he held in his laughter as Steve whispered in his ear, making snarky remarks about the preacher. And quick as the memory came, it went in favor of the next one, as Bucky all but begged Steve to stay at his home after the funeral. The smell of his mother’s raspberry cobbler perfectly recrafted by Steve in their apartment. Burning hands as Bucky practically dragged Steve away from another fight. A chocolate milkshake with two straws in an empty diner at two am. Old Man Jenkins hollering at them for yet another prank. Notes left in his lunch telling him to eat the broccoli. Cold washcloths fighting off a fever. The hairpin curve of his smile. His shampoo. Steve.

 

Eyes snapping open, Bucky slammed his open palm onto the man’s chest, thinking only of Steve as his hand covered the bloody runes he just traced there. Sweat matting his hair, and covering his face, Bucky felt almost feverish as he remembered what felt like his whole life with Steve. And just as he wondered if following his gut were the right thing to do, Bucky saw light shining between his fingers. He nearly pulled his hand away but it felt as if magnetic force were keeping him there, pinning his hand to where his blood lay on the man’s skin. Bucky watched in morbid fascination as the light grew brighter, sapping him of every ounce of energy he didn’t know he had left. And suddenly as it came, the light flickered and died, just as Bucky’s eyes fell closed and the world turned sideways. 

 

~

 

“...condition, we don’t know when he’s going to wake up.” A voice, male, late thirties, suspected caucasian, murmured.

 

“Try right now.” Bucky rasped, voice strained, vocal cords grating against one another. He opened his eyes to see Natasha looking at him exasperatedly, and a doctor, male, late thirties, african-american, settling after what appeared to be a great shock.  _ Damn,  _ Bucky thought,  _ must be losing my touch _ . 

 

“Bucky.” Natasha breathed, coming in closer and sitting on the edge of his bed, gathering his flesh hand in hers. She looked at him for a long minute, and Bucky couldn't decipher what exactly she was thinking but something deep down inside him clenched in fear. She handed him a glass of water, which he greedily drank down. Steeling herself, Natasha took a deep breath, “Bucky-” But whatever was on the edge of her tongue was lost as Bucky looked past her to the window on the far wall. There, walking slowly, leaning heavily on another person, was Steve Rogers. To say Bucky leapt at the opportunity to see him was an understatement. He all but flew out of the room, tearing the medical chords from his body as he went. He shrugged off every hand, a fair few given Bucky’s initial thought of how many people were in the room with him. 

 

Throwing the door open, Bucky slid into the hallway, almost toppling over. “Hey!” He called, voice cracking, but feeling considerably better. 

 

The man Steve had been leaning on was Sam Wilson, Bucky came to realize. The pair froze and slowly turned around. 

 

For the first time in weeks Bucky looked into Steve's eyes. 

 

_ Is this what it was like?  _ Bucky thought, heart shattering,  _ Looking at me?  _ For everything he was expecting, Bucky never once anticipated a lack of recognition. 

 

Steve turned to look at Sam, questioningly, but Sam kept looking on at Bucky as if this were the worst outcome that could have possibly happened. 

 

Unbidden, tears stung at the back of Bucky’s eyes. Holding them back as best he could, Bucky took a couple steps forward, extending his left arm. Steve stared at it for a moment. Bucky grimaced when he realised what the man was looking at. “Sorry.” he muttered. When he brought his right hand up, it sat there in the air for a minute, Bucky waiting for Steve to take it. 

 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, eyes holding a flicker of  _ something _ , but Bucky wasn’t sure what. 

 

So, he clenched his hand, bringing it down and wiping his sweaty hand on his thin hospital gown.

 

“Yeah,” He choked out, “It's me.”

 

Time passes in absolute silence, Bucky isn’t actually sure how long it lasted, but this time it was Steve who extended his hand. Bucky stared at it briefly before taking it firmly in his grasp and shaking, looking up at Steve and his face splitting into a great big smile. 

 

And through his tears and squinty eyed smile, Bucky could just see Steve’s smile too. 

 

~

 

Now, he couldn’t tell you particularly  _ when  _ it happened, but he could damn near guarantee that it had. Well, it had to have, at least by this point… right? He was happy, and he felt normal again. He wasn't checking out anymore, having flashes of a life that wasn't his but somehow was, but instead he was checking in, engaging happily in conversation. Sometimes they talked about memories he was still having trouble recollecting, but it didn't make him feel excluded anymore, if anything it made him feel wanted. It wasn't a quick process, but when he looked back he could easily pinpoint when he noticed the change. It was long at work, but he had this feeling in his gut that there was something he needed to do. He ignored it for a long time, afraid it wasn't him pulling in that direction but perhaps something deeper. But, eventually, he ended up there. The bench was old, comfortable, memorable. It reminded him of all the things he could have been and all the things he became. Both made him proud. The lights were beautiful, contrasting the night sky in the definition of picturesque. Suddenly, he found himself ensconced. Instead of the panic, he found himself melting back into the touch. Ensnared in the scent of funnel cakes, two strong arms, and he finally felt at home. And then a sigh, a simple word passing their lips so quietly that he almost didn’t hear it, but he did. And he never believed in a word so well as this.

 

“ _ Steve. _ ”


End file.
